


Heart

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tv-universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt - "Home is where the heart is." (Pliny the Elder)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Post Season Three.
> 
> * * *

The single story ranch house would look almost untouched if not for the door hanging open on bent hinges, caught and held in place by an overgrown tangle of blackberry bushes. And the splash of long-dried blood on the doorjamb, dark against the faded white siding.

There's no noise from within, but Michonne still nods silently when Daryl gestures toward himself and the back of the house, waits until he has crept beyond the bushes and out of sight before drawing her katana and approaching the open door. She steps inside quickly and moves to the side, letting her eyes adjust to the dimness as her gaze flits to all corners of the room. Overstuffed sofa against the wall facing a television set with a screen too big for the small room, small desk and computer covered with dust.

The lone walker in the room has been ripped apart, its chest a massive ruin. It lifts an emaciated head and struggles to crawl toward her, and her boots crunch on broken bric-a-brac as she steps forward, takes off the top of its head with a quick slice. She looks up at the sound of Daryl's footsteps, flicks the brackish blood from her sword before slinging it into its sheath.

Daryl's chin juts toward the walker. "Just the one?"

"Such as it was," Michonne says.

Daryl shakes his head at the carnage, nudges an internal organ with the toe of his boot. "Home is where the heart is?" he says.

Michonne can't help the way her lips twitch. "You are twisted, Dixon."

"Yeah, that's what a dysfunctional home life'll get ya," Daryl says. He gestures toward the kitchen. "C'mon. Don't look like nobody's been through here. Got almost a full pantry."

* * *

"Anxious to get back?"

Michonne pauses in shoveling another can of peas haphazardly into the backpack. Maybe she is rushing things, but she's got her reasons. She side-glances him while stretching back into the cupboard. "You aren't?"

Daryl shrugs. "Wanna check on that new gate they was workin' on. See what else we can do to keep the walkers back."

Michonne nods, slots another can into place in her bag. If Daryl wants to pretend that he's only concerned about defense – and not the people they're defending, and not one person in particular – she'll let him. Just a little while longer. 

"I want to check in on Carl," she says. 

Daryl cocks his head. "Just Carl?"

"Yes," Michonne grits out, but there's no bite to it. 

"Uh huh."

Michonne bristles. "The boy hasn't been sleeping well."

"Yeah well, he ain't the only one," Daryl says. "He'll like those comics you found for him, though. Damn foolish risk, if you ask me."

The herd had been small as they go, but they'd spilled in from the backyard quicker than expected, stumbling into the kitchen and blocking the exits. They'd had to fight their way through to a back bedroom – a child's room, with a wallpaper border of baseball bats and gloves and a messy tangle of dirty clothes on the floor – and crawl out the window. Doubling back for the comics piled on a long-dead boy's desk might not have been the smartest move, but she knew Daryl'd have her back.

Now, Michonne smiles. "Worth it for the X-Men," she says.

Daryl smirks at her across the counter before glancing knowingly at her bag. "Guess we all like to do something special for the people we love," he says. 

Michonne manages to stop herself before she follows his gaze to the side pocket, gives him a glare out of principle that just makes Daryl smirk all the more. She lifts her chin haughtily, dares him to laugh. When he just shakes his head, she returns to piling canned goods into the bag. She refuses to feel guilty. She's perfectly willing to share everything else they find, even though she thinks it's high time some of the newbies from Woodbury got their feet wet and starting taking some chances of their own. 

But Rick may have mentioned a particular affinity for mandarin orange slices, on one of those nights when a day spent clearing the prison of walkers meant that everyone was too keyed up to sleep. When they'd sit on the steps instead, talking only occasionally; mostly just watching the stars and listening to the murmur of voices from the common room and the faint sound of Beth singing to the baby drifting from the open door. 

Rick deserves something special. That's all.

Besides, Michonne is well aware of the lined notebook and pen that Daryl snagged from the side table when he thought she wasn't looking. 

She nudges him now, flicks her eyes to the front flap of his own backpack where she knows the notebook is nestled. "Yeah," she says, "I guess we do."

She's pretty sure he's still blushing when they leave five minutes later.


End file.
